


the lying days (of our youth)

by furius



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Dark Agenda, M/M, Manipulations, Moral Ambiguity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-07-26
Updated: 2011-08-17
Packaged: 2017-10-21 19:26:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/furius/pseuds/furius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>American dys(u)topia AU. After obtaining his PhD, Charles Xavier returns to the United States to realise his vision of mutant recognition and assimilation. By 1962, he's the anonymous director of all operations in the US responsible for safeguarding human-mutant relations. When Erik Lensherr comes looking for Sebastian Shaw on US shores, Charles orders a manhunt for both of them. But when he meets Erik, he finds himself doubting his purpose for the first time in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Kitchen Cabinet

**Author's Note:**

> _The manipulative idealist differs from the man of merely personal ambition by the fact that he desires not only certain things for himself, but a certain kind of society.”_ \- The Scientific Outlook by Bertrand Russell

The dress was white, an elegant confection of lace, silk, and pearls. She was Mallory Raven Xavier. She smiled for the mirror, still slightly uneasy and was pronounced suitably beautiful and charmingly shy. She counted down the Sundays.

At the end of Hilary term, Charles came home, looking pale and distracted, terribly unsympathetic to her plight, which was reassuring and frustrating at the same time. They ate their meals in the smaller kitchen where they first found each other as children. And for a few days, it was as if they were as children, showing off new tricks for each other away from the prying eyes of adults. But then Charles told her about Oxford and his dissertation and Raven told him about dances and Beatniks and they both felt the press of time as if it was a hand tightening around their necks.

After a week, they left instructions to close the house and Raven went to England, leaving behind the debutant dress in the wardrobe and the letter of admission to Radcliffe in a room plastered with posters of movie stars.

They returned three years later, Charles with his PhD and Raven with a First. They had a plan with them because a life hiding behind masks and inside lecture halls and laboratories were merely echoing what people have done for hundreds of years but they were the next step in biological evolution and social evolution had to be inevitable.

The Westchester county society welcomed back the Xaviers with open arms. If they were amused that Charles Xavier, the bookish boy with the English accent decided to go into politics, they still introduced him to the right people. And if they disapproved of Mallory Xavier’s dress and manner of speech, they still invited her to their parties. It was easy to see they were people who would go far. And if the brother and sister displayed remarkable composure when the government announced the existence of mutants, the same people looked at the Xavier Manor and its immaculate grounds and thought how fortunate they were that they have such elegant members within their midst.

When Dr. Hank McCoy started frequenting Charles’ clubs with him and Moira MacTaggert was seen often coming up the long drive from the airport, it seemed a wedding or even two might be possible. There were people who looked forward being invited inside Xavier's iron gates. Sharon Xavier had always entertained well while she lived. The Xavier cellar was legendary.

-=-=

“They think I’m you,” Hank complained, “there were no less than three reporters asking about _my_ future plans about state press trying to trip me.”

Charles looked up from around the freezer door. “Is that the latest rumour? Raven, are you sure there’s chocolate left?”

“That’s the oldest rumour,” Raven corrected him, ” which makes it the one most people think is true. And yes, as of last week.”

Hank turned to her. “You are much better with people than I am. Facing a mob of reporters and flash bulbs interested in my opinions on legal matters is not what I had ever imagined for my life.”

“Raven had another assignment at the Pentagon,” Charles answered, having finally retrieved the ice-cream. “Anyways, we should strive for authenticity whenever we can. Too many illusions and our efforts will unravel. Besides, people _like_ you, Hank. To most, you’re just a harmless egghead. A bit high-brow, yes, but harmless, conforming to expectations. The Congressional hearings would seem disingenuous from anyone else.”

Hank looked at Charles who was scooping the ice-cream into bowls with an intent look on his face. “They think I look harmless, imagine how popular you would go across.”

“Deeply distrustful,” Raven answered for him. “We tried it before. Small audience, but apparently Charles’ accent has negative connotations when talking about counter-intelligence efforts. I sat in the meeting. There was actually a twenty minutes discussion whether Charles is too “English” to be given the responsibility until they were reminded that- “ She tensed when the door opened, but Charles was rummaging for silverware and seemed unconcerned.

“Moira, join us for a bowl of ice-cream? You look tired.” Charles slid hers across the table but Moira didn’t pick up the spoon.

“I can’t stay very long,” Moira said. She had come straight from the airport. Every mile of the journey was attempting to show itself on her face. “The CIA is having doubts about Alex Summers. The superintendent doesn’t want to release someone who has such a volatile potential and set a precedent. He’s demanding that his protest to be noted and wanting Alex registered. My boss doesn’t want to come into conflict with the army. They’re sending me to Hellfire club to Las Vegas, surveillance.”

Raven took a spoonful of the ice-cream. “Registered? The point of identification is for our safety, not so they can keep files on us like we are criminals.”

“Well,” Charles said easily, “we certainly can’t have that. Regardless, Alex Summer needs to be released, but the CIA doesn’t need to be involved at the moment. Raven, is Senator Kelly’s schedule clear?”

“Congress doesn’t convene until next Monday. The Mutant-Human Affairs committee is meeting on Tuesday. You do have to meet with the FBI Wednesday afternoon to discuss border security.”

“We’ll fly out tomorrow with Moira with a detour for Alex Summers. He needs our help. Moira, do you want the Hellfire assignment?” Charles voice was soft, “I can have them send someone else.”

Moira hesitated. “There might be something at Hellfire but I would like to choose my own backup this time.”

Charles nodded. “Understandable, just send me the name. Hank, I’d like a session with Cerebro if possible. Lately-” He trailed off when he realized how worried they all were. “Don’t be concerned. It’s just nightmares.”

“Charles,” Raven began, “remember that time-”

“I’ll be all right,” Charles said. “I always am.” He smiled brightly. “These are my own dreams.”

-=-=

Time was still Camp Funston in Kansas. It didn’t exist in solitary. The guards opened the door. The young man inside was sitting still as a statue.

“You are free to leave,” the warden said, sounding resigned. Alex looked up, frowning, confused by the group of people outside the door.

Charles told the agents to wait. He stepped through. The cell was small, dark, and humid. There were no windows. The air smelled of ozone.

“Who are you?”

“Charles, I’m pleased to finally make your acquaintance.” Charles extended a hand then continued as Alex didn’t move. “We think it prudent for you to leave.”

“Do you know what I can do?” Alex asked. He wrapped his arms around his shoulders, and whispered, “What I have done?”

“You didn’t know you were a mutant,” Charles said, exuding calm. The mutants with the more overt and easily weaponized powers usually had the most difficult time manifesting and adjusting. He had seen Scott Summers in Cerebro as well. “Come with me and you’ll be safe and safe around others. We’ll find your brother for you. Have you heard of Dr. Hank McCoy? He can help you both.”

Alex regarded the agents outside suspiciously. “The guy on the news? FBI? CIA? What does the government want with me? The army-” He paled.

He was suspecting the worst. Charles shook his head. “Neither, Alex. We’ve secured your release for your sake, not for the army’s.”

“But who are you? Who is “we”?”

Charles knew it wasn’t the name he wanted. Alex had been in solitary for such a long time that he didn’t know about the spate of congressional hearings and the anti-mutant treason trials currently being shown on TV. His agency’s name didn’t mean anything to a man who had joined the military and rather voluntarily incarcerated since adolescence.

So inside Alex Summer’s mind he said: _We are the ones changing the world_.

-=-=

There were no bathrooms in the Pentagon for women. Raven stepped into one for men and splashed water on her face. The eyes in the mirror were blue, the flushed cheeks were her brother’s, but his words had been hers. She watched Charles’ face smile. Those men had heard them. They listened to her.

Charles did not read her mind and she did not imitate him except for their their project. At Oxford, she reminded him that he did not need to hide and he reminded her that she could be whatever she wanted. “What then?” they had wondered together.

Then Moira found them, sent abroad because she was a woman and a bit of an embarrassment for her bosses at the CIA. Together they found Hank. Cerebro changed everything. Their plan was being realised faster than they had dared to imagine. Raven sometimes wore Charles’ face to the world, hiding none of her opinions, and Charles was anything he wished to be, as if he was pure thought, rendering ideas into reality.

“No country can fight two wars at the same time and remain,” she reminded herself under her breath. The Cold War was inspiring a surge of patriotic fervour that incorporated the mutants with suitable nudging from Charles and her. Senator Kelly’s cooperation had been invaluable. Congress could not dissent. After all, why should they fear themselves?

The blacklash against McCarthy and his witchhunt for communists had made the society susceptible to suggestive acceptance of mutants. At the same time, the skeleton structure of what he had left behind had made the process easier. Internal stability- Raven could not regret what she had become. Blue skin was as limiting as being female or even educated, but how could she be anything other than bluestocking growing up with Charles Xavier? She didn’t regret it. There were still compromises, but they had made a choice and were still making them.

The president want to put a man on the moon. Charles wanted mutants and humans to coexist peacefully as “we’ve done for thousands of years.” What Raven wanted- She did not want to be invisible and after a decade since she had searched through Xavier’s kitchen, she still wanted to be safe.

But the world was changing. Society was changing, reshaped to their vision.

-=-=

“Do you really work with FAMA?” Joseph asked. “Is Dr. McCoy really Professor X?” He seemed genuinely curious, “Someone told us that the agency doesn’t exist, that it’s all sort of a Latin pun of an inter-agency effort to suppress groups and individuals the government deemed subversive.”

Moira’s reputation preceded her. More accurately, her official position as CIA’s liaison to the notorious Federal Agency of Mutant Affairs and thus her association with its mysterious director had garnered her envy and a sort of reluctant deference. FAMA had grown increasingly powerful as mutant identification grew increasingly normalized. At first it was only 2% of the population, then 6% then 10% with both the Dept. of Defense and Justice instituting protective policies. There were whispers that the President himself was a mutant and had signed an executive order allowing FAMA power of involuntary quarantine.

She preferred to be on assignment, away from the gossip and insinuations. A word to Charles and they would all be silenced, but he should be attending to more important matters than the prejudices of her colleagues, no matter how much he reassured her that he was not some sort commodity that could be used up, Moira preferred to remain in the field.

Finding the Xavier siblings had been her greatest and most fatal career move. She was suppose to complete a postgraduate degree at St. Hilda’s undercover, sounding out any potential recruits for the CIA and reporting on any dangerous individuals or ideas that might cross the Atlantic. It was a dummy assignment, especially since her research would be in biology, not nuclear physics. While she enjoyed her studies and the research, the fact that it was only offered because the agency regretted formally hiring her was still a source of bitterness.

She had nearly given up until she met Charles Xavier in a pub. His eyes had seemed innocent when he touched her hair and offered her a line about mutation. He had seemed everything Moira was trying to find.

That had been Moira’s first mistake. Charles Xavier was a telepath since age six. He had been looking for answers, too, and found them through her. “Our muse,” he sometimes called her. She would meet Raven later and realise that they had their own objectives. Moira was not a mutant possessing of uncanny abilities, but they opened her eyes to the potential of a new world. It was too late to regret what it meant for her and the world she grew up in.

But Joseph was a fresh recruit, with a slightly too large nose and too wide smile. His eyes were a warm, strange luminous brown. He opened doors for her but looked directly in the eye when he spoke.

“FAMA does exist and no one knows who its director is,” Moira answered him. “I’m not certain myself,” she said. It was not a lie.

He looked like he had further questions, but being around Charles and Raven and Hank had almost given Moira a six sense about mutants. While the group that just stepped out of the limo had too much self-reassurance for people who were arriving at the Hellfire Club for the first time, what caught her attention was Colonel Hendry.

Joseph didn’t protest when she decided to go inside. Afterwards, instead of calling her immediate superiors, she called Hank’s private line.

“Did you know about the mutants arriving at Hellfire Club?” she asked, dreading the answer. She was certain Charles would’ve told her. It shouldn’t be possible for them to not know about mutants entering United States. The files were in Russian and spoke less of Hendry’s objectives than someone else’s. A United States general as a pawn for another mutant- “Do we have records on Sebastian Shaw?”

There long pause at the other end and what sounded like papers being shuffled.

“I’ll ask,” Hank said faintly.

-=-=

The curse and the blessing of being a McCoy, an entirely different matter from being a mutant, was that Hank had never been able to forget anything, but his recall was not immediate. It was while tinkering with Cerebro that he realised where he made the association. Sebastian Shaw, Sebastian Schimdt. Nazi. Herr Doctor. His name had been a side-note in the Nuremberg Trials.

He dropped the soldering gun and swore when it hit his foot, blackening the leather. His shoes were custom made. Charles had recommended a tailor who seemed to have relished the challenge, but as fast as he could run, technology was often still the better option.

His hand trembled slightly when he dialed the number. Even now, he was still afraid. There was something very strange and very dangerous...afoot.

-=-=

Raven was brushing her teeth when the phone started ringing.

“Where’s Charles?” Hank was surprised she picked up.

“Still in DC, making personal introduction for Alex Summers and probably collecting his brother. We should open the East Wing in the Salem house if Charles’ serious about the school.”

“Have you heard of Doctor Sebastian Schmidt?”

“Sounds German,” Raven said and yawned. It had been a very long day. Hank’s familiar voice was welcome. She wished that his question was merely an excuse to talk to her as it often was.

“He is,” Hank said, the urgency in his tone killing that notion. “He’s also been around since WWII. Moira saw him with his associates tonight, all of them Class V mutants, at Hellfire with Hendry.”

Raven recalled an old unremarkable face, often complacent while others spoke. Still, he had been one of the few that required a personal visit from Charles to persuade him that recognizing mutants would improve instead of threaten national security.

“If the government-”

“Hank, _we_ are the government. Hendry will have to go.”

“There’s something else,” Hank said. “If he’s a Nazi, then whoever committed the Argentinian murders might be after him, too. The CIA’s certain now that it is one man.”

“You think Shaw’s trying to seek asylum in the United States? Anyways, if there’s some sort of Nazi hunter around, it is not really our business.”

“I don’t know what he wants,” Hank sounded flustered, “but we didn’t know they entered United States, never mind being in Las Vegas and meeting Hendry...”

Raven realized what he was going to say. She dropped her toothbrush in the sink. The room was suddenly cold. Her skin prickled blue. “They can block Cerebro.”

-=-=

Even as a case was being built for General Hendry to undergo a loyalty review, Charles Xavier issued an order to take in Sebastian Shaw and his known associates for questioning by FAMA.

Furthermore, officially at the recommendation of the Center for Disease Control, polio vaccines would be given for all foreign nationals at all ports of entry. The second, more discreet, objective were only known to the administrators: lookout for mutants of German or Jewish descent.

-=-=


	2. Mutatis Mutandis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Moira and Raven talk and Erik disturbs an equilibrium.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is now fully plotted and will definitely be finished.

Mornings in Virginia tended to be cool, but turned blazing hot toward midday. As spring ended, the heat lingered in the humidity, though the flora remained in full bloom, the clouds hung low and thick with smog.

“Allow me to ask,” Charles said mildly across the desk, “what is the purpose of the CIA maintaining a Division X and a paranormal research division if they produce nothing other than curious outliers and inapplicable theories? We live in an age of rapid scientific progress. With the new emphasis on the space program, streamlining the research and education of mutant potential is not only a defense issue but an economic one as well. Forget what you’ve heard, FAMA is not a codeword; the agency for Mutant Affairs is independently operated and report directly to the executive office.”

Though less bureaucratic and political than most of his colleagues, McCone had grasped the point immediately. There was a faint sheen of perspiration on his forehead. He wiped at it with a handkerchief ineffectively. His hands were already damp. He was not a stupid man, but he still worried about his immediate superiors about devoting his resources to directives of other agencies.

“But useful ones,” Charles helped him, words seamlessly blending into the other man’s thoughts, “and you can be rest assured that all of Division X’s current projects will continue to be funded.”

“Their uses-”

Half of Hank’s Blackbird was still in a hangar and a part Cerebro’s schematics from the the division’s research team were in a file cabinet somewhere. “The use of the research deliverables will remain at the exclusive discretion of the government, of course.” Charles rested his hands on the table, palms upturned. “I’ve always hoped that we would eventually cooperate. You’ve already met Agent MacTaggart who have been invaluable in facilitating joint efforts-”

“Moira,” McCone startled.

“As I was saying, despite Agent MacTaggart’s efforts, true inter-agency transparency have so far been sadly absent. I think you’ll agree with me that a combination of both of our expertise is not only practical but necessary in these changing times.”

“I’m not certain it is my decision, Dr. Xavier,” McCone demurred. He was worried. His own family had so far been completely mutant except for him. There was pressure for him to leave due to conflict of interest, something that could easily be taken care of.

“Let me assure you,” Charles leaned forward, smiling, his eyes very blue, “it is.”

“It is,” McCone repeated, convinced.

-=-=

Stumbling on strangely weakened legs, Charles crashed through the undergrowth into a small copse. He could smell the wildflowers on the faint breeze. There seemed to be faces out of every tree and every rock. On the horizon, reptilian heads nestled against the clouds and a backdrop of forest and volcanoes. The sky had a coppery sheen. Dawn. He had never seen this wilderness. He had always been here.

His clothes were uncomfortable against his sweaty skin. His throat was dry. Crouching beside the stream he saw the ripples and eddies stopped where it would disturb his own reflection so that the water appeared as smooth as glass. His mirror image was opening and closing its mouth though he couldn’t hear anything except the faint burbling of the stream. Awareness settled slowly- he was dreaming, he should be awake. Leaning forward, his shoes slipped on the mud and he tipped too far, losing his balance. The world turned upside-down and for an instant there was only the expectation of the cool embrace of water and an inevitability of consciousness, but it was always the pain that woke him up as if he had slammed against ice or metal.

He opened his eyes with his cheek pressed uncomfortably against the sheets, his legs tangled in the blankets. The pillows had all migrated to the floor during the night. The room was silent except for the hum of the air conditioning.

“The wrong side of the bed again?” Raven said when he wandered down for breakfast. A pile of mail surrounded her. A fortnight had passed. They had found neither Shaw nor the Nazi hunter. Hank was still working on extending Cerebro’s range and precision back at the house.

“The wrong side of the world,” Charles retorted, slipping pieces of lukewarm toast onto his plate.

“Is it the dreams?” Raven asked, passing the butter.

Charles nodded, rubbing the side of his head. “There were dinosaurs in them last night.”

Raven paused in the middle of pouring him a coffee. A brief flash of yellow passed her eye, but she smiled, teasing. “What else? Did you find a time traveller yesterday or is your Saint George fantasies playing up again? Who’s the maiden you’ll be rescuing?”

“Perhaps I simply met someone who really like dinosaurs,” Charles answered, tapping the soft-boiled egg with a spoon until a crack formed. He disliked having his dreams analyzed. Even knowing that it might’ve been influenced by someone else seemed like a violation when he was so seldom alone in his own mind during the day. The dream had begun months ago. With Shaw and his associates still eluding Cerebro, he was starting to wonder whether another telepath was influencing him. The unexpected imagery of dinosaurs concerned him less than his lack of lucidity in the dream. He had always known who he was in his dreams- distinguishing between what belonged to him and others had always been necessarily instinctive, a survival mechanism. The loss of control, however temporary, reminded him far too much of his childhood before Raven ever came into his life. He had almost forgotten what loneliness felt like- that no one would miss him, that he did not exist...

“Moira called this morning,” Raven said, breaking Charles’ reverie. “She said McCone at Division X is becoming desperate for the bridge with us to formally take place. The CIA’s considering shutting his department down soon. God knows where all the research would end up if that’s the case. Should I go if you’re feeling unwell? He _is_ very easy to read, telepathy unnecessary.”

Charles considered the long drive while absently dipping strips of toast into the yolk. “Hank is working on Cerebro. I’ll only distract him. It seems that I should-”

Raven rolled her eyes. “A day to rest, Charles. Go out, have an ice-cream, watch a movie-”

Charles couldn’t suppress his laughter. “And who should go on these dates with me?”

“Time to search for a mutant whose ability is immunity to your horrible lines,” Raven suggested, “I hope that dragon won’t be too hard to slay.”

-=-=

Though science hadn’t been able to come up with an explanation for most of them, the various manifestations of the mutations were not magic. Charles’ papers, for all their speculations, also provided enough background to the new field of genetics that would shape future research for generations to come. Moira was only allowed to sit in during his defense by special permission, her starched shirt scratchy on her skin. The auditorium had been packed. She had both marveled at his work and envied him-- his research, his support, his committee of mentors smiling and whispering to each other.

Once upon a time, his conclusion would’ve gotten him expelled. But having launched a direction for the future of biological sciences, the departure of Charles Xavier from Oxford caused more hue and cry than the subtle suggestion -- not Charles’ but the underlying implication of _limitless potential_ had been obvious even to a layman-- that humanity would not only play gods, but actually be gods.

Moira herself, though she could and often did try to think about mutants as their component parts, like everyone else -- flesh and blood and bone, life encoded with DNA -- still found the amount of unknown factors to be so staggeringly many that she wanted to think of them all as supernatural. And hardly would the thought cross her mind before she became disconcerted by the ease of it. After all, she knew _better_. Why should knowledge not arm her against the involuntary surprise of seeing what is essentially phenotype of mutations? Charles himself had expressed utter faith in the scientific method and a rational universe.

Moira was an agent for the CIA with a healthy respect for methodology. However, she had also been born female and with it came the understanding that the universe may be rational, but the rules of men were often arbitrary. She suspected that Charles’ sister understood this more than Charles.

At the moment, Raven looked like herself as Moira had met her, blue-eyed and golden-haired. It’s not quite summer yet, her skin had only a hint of a tan. Moira had to forcefully remind herself that she wasn’t seeing Raven exactly, but a facade.

“Facet. Aspect. Representation. Or simply, side.”

“Excuse me?” Moira said more sharply than she intended.

“You were reading the newspaper. I can see the blocked quotes about speciation, whether we are, indeed, _homo sapiens_. I’ve heard enough of yours and Charles’ views on the matter to know that you both consider the idea unscientific and anti-Darwinian. But then you looked puzzled, then at me, but not quite meeting my eyes. Instead, you glared at the window when there’s nothing but cars outside. You were wondering about my appearance. It’s just like yours, really, except I’ve more to work with.”

“That’s quite a bit of deduction. Very...Sherlock Holmes,” Moira said dryly.

A pink tinge fluttered to Raven’s pale face. “In beginning, I could only mimic bodies. Rather, form, but our abilities improved as we practised, like muscles getting used to ballet or swimming even as we consciously try to mold our actions reactions to our likings. Gradually, I learned how much mannerisms and even personality could be shaped by the physical form. Charles may talk about the wonders of genes and mutations to the science crowd, but our abilities are as much of a skill set as it is..biology.”

“You couldn’t think I didn’t know that you were your own experiments,” Moira said.

“But we weren’t and we would never be,” Raven said earnestly. “It’s part of who we are. One year, we read Euripides’ _Helen_ at school. I sympathized with the fake Helen. She was an image shaped out of a cloud, but men still fought and died for her for ten years. I was a girl and the most important thing was a date. I thought I had found my solution. I could be Helen, I thought, and I would go to Hollywood.”

You are still a girl, Moira thought, to be this age and inhabit this body, for all your politicking as an Xavier. The first time she saw Raven in an Oxford pub, she had been telling people she was waitressing. Moira doubted her professors at St.Hilda’s would’ve approved. “Why didn’t you?” she asked.

“I announced it over dinner one evening. I had been sat next to a boy from California whose father was a producer. He was talking about how glittering and beautiful everyone and everything was. He said he would introduce me to a director he knows and suddenly it seemed possible to meet Cary Grant,” Raven looked very young when she smiled. “I thought Kurt, our step-father, would have a heart-attack over the fish course. His face turned very red. Then, my mother, sitting beside him, recommended marriage. “A slightly less vulgar form of make-belief” was the way she phrased it, at which point Kurt left the table, upturning a tray over a poor server on his way out. How her guests laughed....”

It was the first time Moira heard Raven speaking of them growing up. The world of Xavier’s set seemed as strange as their mutation. Stranger, even, to think most of those people had none. “What did Charles say?” Moira asked, but a shadow passed Raven’s face even as she looked at Moira curiously.

“I was sixteen that year. Charles already went up for college and in no position to give me advice about Hollywood or anything else.” Charles didn’t give advice, Moira knew for a fact. In fact, she suspected, for most of his life he actually couldn’t because it wasn’t advice when people _had_ to take it. But by Raven’s tone, it was perhaps around that age their pact came into place. Then Raven asked: “Why did you join the CIA if you wanted to be a scientist?”

It was only fair that she answered: “You met me in Oxford while I was doing my degree in genetics. It was what I hoped for when I went to college in the States, but that wasn’t enough to get me into a lab I wanted. They didn’t welcome female candidates. The CIA recruited me from the computing pool in New Mexico and I thought it would get me out-”

“Some sense of freedom.” Disconcertingly, Raven followed the thought and Moira didn’t have to continue. Neither of the Xavier siblings ever forced a conversation that Moira could notice. “Ironic isn’t it? That our freedom depends so much on my brother.””

Without Charles, perhaps Moira would still be a CIA field agent, and Raven would probably still wear different faces except in Hollywood and not in DC, and Hank would remain Division X’s resident genius, but they would only be those things.

“Charles is thinking of education lately.”

“Education?” Moira startled. It seemed to have came out of nowhere. “For us?”

Raven shook her head. “He thinks the current education system is archaic, that there should be more emphasis on science and mathematics.”

“That’ll put him in favor with the current administration,” Moira said wryly, thinking of the televised success of Soviet Sputnik I and the failure of US’ Vanguard satellite. Moira would’ve thought Mutant Affairs have enough on their plate as it is with the bills that need to through congress, the counter-intelligence programs...But perhaps, for people like Charles and Raven, merely having _enough_ was never an option.

“What makes you think that it’s not his idea in the first place?” Raven asked archly. “No illusion can keep up forever. He thinks a proper grounding in the rationales of the science will destroy the fear and prejudices that Mutant Affairs is trying to eliminate.”

Charles’ illusions could, Moira thought, then berated herself for thinking illusions were what they pursued. “In the beginning, I thought it was all mind-control,” she confessed; there were rumors that CIA had a similar agenda in one of their projects before Moira even went abroad and found something and someone infinitely more powerful, “then I realized it wasn’t necessary because I-” She struggled for an analogy. “It was a domino effect of choices.” And how skillful do you have to be to muster all that before age thirty she had wondered, though now she thought mustering politics and stratagems of academia must’ve seemed easy after the Xavier dinner table.

“Charles always said that people are capable of all thoughts and all feelings. His optimism was that we could all choose the right thoughts and act upon the right feelings-”

“Given the right suggestions,” Moira added. It should trouble her, that she had aided and abetted a new arbitration of freedom even as she sought her own.

“And with Hank and Cerebro,” Raven continued, “it’s everyone and everything and all the time.”

“That’s why we are here,” Moira insisted.

Raven looked amused. The resemblance to Charles was uncanny. “You trust Charles will carry us through? That peace will prevail if only people know more about us and perhaps science general?”

“I do,” Moira answered, surprising herself. She almost asked if Raven did. “And that we will all be better for lack of ignorance.” The car slowed. They were entering Langley. “We need the schematics of Cerebro from Department X.”

“Hank doesn’t think there woud be anything worthwhile since his time there.” Raven said, turning toward the window. “Sometimes, even if you’ve swam or practised every day for a thousand days, there still might be one day you swam less well, one day when the music didn’t match what it should’ve been. Hank thinks the universe is inherently chaotic and unpredictable. We can only be so close to perfection.”

“We don’t need perfection,” Moira said, determined. “We need significant precision. We need certainty.” She didn’t think Raven understood. At the same time the security of Cerebro had been compromised, he was threatening the freedom of everyone in the country, not only the mutants.

But then the car came to a stop and Moira was in the car with Charles Xavier.

-=-=

After Raven left, Charles remained at the breakfast table until the plates were cleared and he finished all three newspapers. It was still only eleven o’clock. When the housekeeper asked him if he would be lunching in, he managed to step outside the door with no particular aim in mind.

It was a Thursday. Most of the thoughts around him were concerned with lunch preparations and children getting home from school. The location of the DC apartment always made Charles claustrophobic. It was an official residence on a street full of official residences, well-guarded, all comings and goings probably on a log somewhere. He waved jauntily at an agent before making his way vaguely toward the waterfront.

He knew he could blend in with many of the college students milling around the capitol. He even contemplated sneaking into a lecture when he realised even if he could, he had left that world behind. He had turned down a professorship, after all, giving up on work whose ultimate outcome would not and could not require telepathy. It had galled his colleagues that he would betray the world of science for politics, but he did feel responsible for Raven whose prospects at eighteen terrified her so much that the constant fear eventually ripped through his own illusions. Selfishness was a difficult accusation to bear from a sister and friend. In their games, she had always played the maiden he rescued.

And in his more honest moments, Charles could admit that he had a weakness for certainty. His own, to be precise. The possibility of the unknown always sat oddly on him. It had made him seem a tireless scientist, the fear often interpreted as dedication or zeal by others. His lab had been supportive, amiable even, his colleagues..collegial..and they would share authorships of his genetic papers without ill-will. He himself hadn’t yet decided whether it was cowardice or prudence or even a streak of inherited paranoia.

He had just gotten past one of the last remnant of the streetcar rails and was within view of the Potomac when his driver pulled up beside him, which meant Raven must have found something. Charles got in, nearly squashing a cupboard box. He reached inside for a sandwich as they headed toward the airport. Still, he asked the destination just to hear an answer.

-=-=

The FBI was following Colonel Hendry when he boarded the _Caspartina_ at Miami, Florida. Sebastian Shaw’s name was unearthed from port authority. By mid-afternoon, the CIA had stepped in and effectively took over, setting off a flurry of paperwork and complaints.

Around dinner time, a floppy-haired young man appeared in the office of commander of the US Coast Guard flanked by two government agents whom he asked to stand outside the door, which they did, promptly.

“Mutant Affairs,” said the young man in an incongruous English accent.

“I haven’t done anything-” the commander protested. “My niece has just turned twelve. We are all..pleased. Her magic-”

Charles Xavier frowned. “Calm yourself, commander. I’m merely here as a precaution. We’ve reason to believe there are mutants abroad the boat Caspartina which carries a man called Sebastian Shaw. He is to be charged with war crimes.”

It turned out he merely wanted to secure the use of a boat and its crew and permission to be onboard himself. The required orders were produced at a speed that spoke well of the bureaucracy and of the disturbing length of the agency’s reach.

Then two women arrived, one from the CIA and another, presumably from Mutant Affairs. She looked as young as Xavier, but took one look at the commander who had the disturbing sensation of being measured.

-=-=

“We still have no idea how they’ve avoided us. We have no idea what they are capable,” Raven was saying. “We’ve all of Division X’s research now, just give Hank a day or two with Cerebro and you would know without risking yourself.”

“It’s even more dangerous for them if I’m not on board,” Charles argued. He was determined. ”There are lives at stake.” He lowered his voice, “Who knows what Shaw or his associates would do? Raven, you shouldn’t worry.”

Raven conceded and said, “If you’re going on board, then so am I. You can take care of the how.”

Charles was about to protest when Moira interrupted. “If you both go, I’m going with you. Shaw is a wanted man regardless. If CIA’s pulling strings and breaking Coast Guard rules for FAMA, my superiors would require to know exactly how.”

It was night by the time they pulled anchor, the whirr of engines carrying them inexorably into the darkness until a chain suddenly rose from the water and among the confusion of “another telepath” and “someone in the water”, there was a cry of “Man overboard!”

The midshipman reported to the captain that Charles Xavier from Mutant Affairs, inexplicably, had leapt over the railing.

-=-=

Clarity of thought was a very rare quality in mutants or humans alike. Singular focus, Charles had sometimes encountered, but even the minds of the most brilliant men were scattered, influenced by the millions things they did, they were doing, they would or should be doing-- thoughts converged or diffused from a single point-- themselves.

He had never encountered another mind-- though encounter was an inadequate description for the force of _compulsion_ that overcame him that he wondered if another’s will had finally and fully imposed upon his-- at once so helplessly open to the world and clinging to purpose, as if a mind had been shaped, pearl-like, layered around some agonizing grain of memory over the years until it became so nacreous and iridescent that all his thoughts glowed in the dark.

They were pulling rapidly out of port where the waves were becoming choppier. The sea and sky had blended together into tenebrous mass. There were turbines churning beneath the currents, and distantly as if it had been another’s body, he realised people were shouting trying to stop him. Charles learned to dive at a watering hole on the Xavier estates in New York. He had gone though school too quickly enjoy enough school summers at beaches or lakes. Afterwards, he swam only when punting failed, but he never felt the sea when he was telling Erik he was not alone. The pearl of his soul was worth any price.

-=-=

“Charles,” Raven said quietly, her forehead against his. She hadn’t been able to let him go since they lifted him up. His lips were blue.

Shivering beneath a blanket, Charles had a dazed look on his face. Beside him was the man he had nearly killed himself to save. He was thankfully silent. Raven couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

“You should get below,” Raven said, wresting herself away. “Both of you,” she clarified. Her voice was shaking. “It’s windy out here.”

“Of course,” Charles said. He stood, laid an arm on the strange man’s shoulder. “Come, Erik. There will be another time, I promise.”

Another time for what? Raven wanted to ask. What did you just promise? She didn’t. She sat down on the spot Charles vacated.

After a while, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up, half-expecting it to be Charles. Moira had a horrible fixed expression on her face. “Charles told me to check up on you,” she said.

“I couldn’t jump in after him,” Raven confessed in a small voice, hugging her arms “He vanished. I wanted to. I am the better swimmer and I’m sure if I concentrated enough I could have-” She looked down at her hands, at the gaps between her very human fingers.

“You shouldn’t have to,” Moira said after a long moment. “You wouldn’t know where or who- It doesn’t make you a coward, just someone with common sense.” She seemed frustrated. “Better wipe your tears.”

Raven touched her cheek and realised it was damp. The tears disappeared because she saw Moira blink before schooling her features again. Raven could still feel them, though, her skin cold in the night air.

She walked down the stairs to the galleys then into the main cabin where she found Charles, his hair absurd, leaning against the wall talking earnestly to the man he had found. His wet-suit was half-unzipped, revealing an expanse of a lithely muscled back marred by a horrific collection of scars. She stood there for a moment, fascinated.

“Raven,” Charles said, sounding surprised. The warmth inside had heightened the spots of colour on his face so that he appeared drunk or blushing. “Allow me to introduce Erik. Erik, Raven.”

“How do you do?” Raven said in her best dancing-school manner as Erik turned. She didn’t offer her hand, though she offered him a cup of hot water.

“How do you do?” Erik replied, his voice equally cool, though there was a discomforting smile lurking at the corners of his mouth. “Thank you.” There was nothing in his eyes, clear though they were.

Charles looked between them, frowning a little. Just then, the boat rolled abruptly. The liquid in Erik’s cup splashed over his hand. The skin reddened. His expression didn’t change.

“I think the captain might come by to shout at you,” Raven said, turning to her brother and handing him a thermos. She watched him take a sip from before handing it over to Erik, who looked briefly confused at the gesture but took it nonetheless.

“Everyone’s fine,” Charles said. “I’m not even shivering anymore.”

It was true. His lips were red again. Raven reached out. His skin was warm but he didn’t seem to be feverish. She hadn’t known that he had become so adept at this particular trick. It had given them both pneumonia for a month, at the end of which Charles reflected that mind over body was better practised in mild cold weather than depth of winter and she should wear more actual clothes instead of just imagining them.

“Erik needs some dry things,” Charles said.

“I’ll get a someone. I’m sure they’ve some clothes,” Rave said, exasperated, and left them.

It didn’t improve once they reached land. First Charles dropped off Raven at the hotel as if she had been the one who spent part of the night in the water, then he said that he’s going with Erik to get his belongings. Raven had been traveling all day and was too tired to argue. It was a little reassuring that they took the CIA car and several of their own agents had arrived who promised to keep an eye on both of them.

Raven was intending to stay up to wait but when she woke up it was already nine o’clock. She knocked at Charles door.

“Erik is the one hunting Shaw,” she said, quite certain.

“One of them at least. It seems everyone’s been looking for Sebastian Schimdt. Even the FBI wants him for his connection to Hendry.”

Raven tried to steer the conversation back. “Erik’s the man who killed those people in Argentina, for whom you almost sent New York into a panic about a potential polio epidemic.”

“That was an actual recommendation from the Center for Disease Control,” said Charles. “I merely enacted it. They’ll probably need to vaccinate all the school children soon if they don’t clean up the streets.”

Raven noticed that Charles didn’t deny the accusation, however, “We had everyone on alert and you still found him in Florida waters,” she pointed out.

“People pass the borders all the time without the authorities knowing about it.”

“I thought you want him arrested so he could tell us about Shaw and his associates.”

“Raven, we can’t arrest anyone without involving other agencies. Detain them, maybe. Well, he is in our custody. Or at least, he will be. I have invited him to come back to the house with us. We can have conversations there. It will be more pleasant for everyone.”

Charles said all this as if it was all settled and a matter of course. Stunned, Raven didn’t know what to think. Charles tended to trust people because he would always know if they lied. He believed the good in everyone because he wanted to, but to invite Erik _home_?

“He doesn’t know who we are, who you are,” she tried.

“I told him my name,” Charles said. “I even introduced you. Remember?”

Raven ignored this. “And are you planning to tell him who Hank is? Who Moira is? What we are?”

“He’s a mutant, too and we are who we are,” Charles said calmly. “What’s gotten into you? Is everything going well with Hank? I’m fine, really. What are you thinking?”

“I could ask you the same. He’s a stranger. What did you promise Erik?”

Charles, uncharacteristically, chose to remain silent. Since Raven had expressly forbidden him to enter her mind and she could never read his face, she didn’t know what he was thinking either.

“I want you to be safe,” Raven said, softly. “Erik’s dangerous.”

“We are all dangerous,” Charles answered. There was a knock at the door. “That’ll be Erik,” Charles said cheerfully. And then, with a sense of disproportionate wonder in his voice, “I wonder why he doesn’t just open the door with his mind. I told him he can come in any time he wished. Theoretically, no lock can keep him out.”

“Perhaps someone taught him manners,” Raven said.

-=-=

There were no files on Erik Lensherr. They swept his room after he left with Charles to stay at the Fontainebleu with the Xaviers, which was a good a sign as any for the CIA to stay away. The room turned out clean. All of his clothes seemed nondescript, except for the suitcase which Moira noticed Erik always kept in sight. While they couldn’t monitor him once FAMA had him, what was obvious was that he was the sort of man would’ve been memorable unless he tried not to be. And the CIA had files on unmemorable man. The trace of Irish accent was distinct.

While Charles, Erik, and Raven headed up to DC before they return to New York, Moira faxed his description to her contacts. Alarmingly, several names came back: Max Eisenhardt. Erik Lehnsherr. Magnus Maximoff, all of them very likely referring to the same man. He had been briefly noted all over Europe and despite a few incidences that connected him to deaths of former Nazi had been disavowed by known Nazi hunters. It was only when he entered South America that there was more detailed reports of his activities. Still, no one knew when he had passed into United States.

Moira MacTaggart grew worried. She didn’t know about Charles’ plans for Erik, but he needed to know about him. She went back to DC with her files and found Raven in the apartment. Hank was there as well, wearing a very good suit and looking very uncomfortable. Abruptly, Moira remembered that the last congressional hearing had been scheduled for the afternoon.

“You are too late, he’s gone,” Raven said when she saw Moira.

“What?”

“Charles Francis Xavier,” Rave said, “went to Langley this morning with Erik to see McCone personally and have just telephoned me that he and Erik will be going on an impromptu road-trip with the blessings of the CIA.”

It was the first time Moira heard of this. None of it made sense. “Why?”

“Because Erik asked and my brother _promised._ ” Raven didn’t say what the promise was. She appeared angry enough that she probably didn’t know. “What my brother promised me is that Erik can bend metal and is not the telepath.”

“But why was he in the water?” Hank interjected. “Was he trying to dismantle Shaw’s submarine? And Charles went after him?” He appeared to be confused by this sequence of events as they all still were and a little fearful of the implications of this had he succeeded.

“He would’ve drowned, Charles told me.” Raven said. “Reluctantly, I might add. He was being resolutely on Erik’s side before I pointed out that we are all on the same side.”

“Having eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth,” Hank commented, pushing up his glasses.

Raven turned to him, apparently resuming a conversation or, more likely, an argument: “But you shouldn’t _start_ with the impossible. My brother is _not_ -” Then her glance fell on the folder Moira’s clutching. “Tell me he’s safe.”

Moira cleared her throat, wondering what Charles is not, but that could be for later. “So far, those we suspect whom Erik Lensherr killed have all been fugitive Nazis, wanted for war crimes and crimes against humanity.” And those in the way between him and the Nazis, she didn’t say, but she suspected Raven could read her anyways. It was awkward, especially when she was never very good at comforting others when she was worried herself. “Thought is the faster than light,” she offered.

“Actually the electrical impulses-” Hank started, then stopped, looking nervously at Raven.

Raven looked a little despairingly at both of them. “We are going home tomorrow. If Charles comes back to DC first, tell him what you found. He can be a little blind to choices people have already made rather than what they can make.”

“Of course,” Moira said, “but no one could wish to hurt Charles.”

This statement apparently startled both Raven and Hank.

“Doesn’t mean that they don’t,” Raven said darkly after a moment. “Charles will be bringing Erik up to the house whenever they come back”

It finally occurred Moira to ask, “Where are they going?”

“I brought up Charles our last list from Cerebro,” Hank spoke up quietly, and suddenly Moira understood why Raven was mad at him.

-=-=

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- in the typical story: Saint George rescues a maiden from a dragon(violently or peacefully, depending on version) while on his travels and her town converts from paganism to Christianity  
> \- briefly, on Nazi-hunting: it’s actually more about tracking down and bringing fugitive Nazis to trial rather than individually executing them in the way of Erik

**Author's Note:**

> Mallory Brickman was one of Mystique's aliases.  
> Debuts only started going out of fashion late 1950s.  
> "Co-eds" didn't exist in the US or England until 1970s when universities started admitting women in traditionally male colleges.  
> FAMA means "rumor" in Latin.  
> Power of quarantine is always a legal act during peacetime. During the Cuban Missile Crisis, interdiction of Cuban shipping was called "quarantine". There are isolation facilities at every port of entry in the US in the 60s and 70s.  
> Polio vaccine was invented in 1961.


End file.
